Page 3 of H Is for Hardcore

No. No, I won’t.

I want to see you come like this. You must know that. If you thought about it you’d work that out.

Your head goes back and you pump your hips hard and roar and scream. God, that was quick. I’m disappointed. But then I think about what you’ve just done and I almost come myself. You just fucked the floor to get yourself off.

I can’t believe you just did that. I’ve never wanted you—or anyone—so much in my whole fucking life. I want to roll you over. I want to straddle your chest and rub my crotch against your hard nice abs until I come myself. I want to twist my fingers in your hair and pull your head up and make you look me in the eye. I want you to know that I just watched you do that. And that I got off hard on it. I want to get down on the floor and lick your come up myself and push it down your throat with my tongue. I want to hurt you and kiss you, write on you. I want to lock you in a cage and starve you.

Sometimes I don’t know what I am or what you’ve made of me. I want to watch you dying. I want to stare at your mouth forever.

GWEN MASTERS

TO PROTECT AND SERVE

HARD AS STEEL, EIGHT INCHES. That’s what I was packing. Other men quite often looked at me with intimidation in their eyes, and that was just fine. That was what I wanted. It was what Lynn needed.

Lynn McCain, sexy siren of a brunette, with classic lips and classic hips that harkened back to Jayne Mansfield. Back when women were women and men were lucky to be allowed to bask in the ripe presence. Lynn is a powerhouse vixen who emanates sex everywhere she goes.

I am the man who is always there, always following her, always standing in her shadow. I am the one man on earth she cannot live without. Literally.

I am Lynn McCain’s bodyguard.

Since Lynn first lit up the silver screen, I have followed her across the globe. I have watched photo shoots in Singapore and runway shows in Milan. I have dined with the royal family of Morocco and fought through a throng of photographers in New York City. I have been on private jets, even more private yachts, and once in the bedroom of an international star whose name shall never be mentioned—but trust me, the rumors are true.

I have been there to watch it all.

Because I am a bodyguard, I am often a shadow. I am often ignored by everyone nearby and that is a good thing. Blending into the background is crucial. No one should notice I am there until they make a move on Lynn. Then they are very well aware of my presence, usually when I have my knee pressed into their abdomen, my hand in a death grip on their throat, and my pistol against the underside of their rib cage. I can take a clear shot without getting so much as one drop of blood on Lynn’s thousand-dollar stiletto pumps.

I had to do it once. You might remember the headlines: The actress who was almost killed by a deranged fan. The fan was shot and killed on the spot by a quick-acting bodyguard. The story didn’t focus much on the bodyguard because stories about shadows don’t usually sell tabloids. That bodyguard was yours truly.

I’ve shed blood for Lynn. Someone else’s, and my own: I took a bullet to the arm that day. It sliced right under my tricep. There is a scar and an ache when it rains, just to remind me that I’m tied to Lynn for good. I will always be the man who took the bullet for her.

Sometimes bodyguards fall in love with their clients. Depending on the level of maturity in that love, it can mean the death knell to the relationship in more ways than one. A bodyguard can never get too comfortable. When protecting someone like Lynn, I have to be constantly on my toes. The only time I can unholster the gun and the mentality that goes with it is when I am locked away in that big Georgian mansion behind those big iron gates, when the other security guards take over and I am free to go to my little collection of rooms in the east wing of the enormous house. That is my day off. That is the only time I can be a man and not a machine.

Those are the times Lynn spends the night in my bed.

No one knows this, of course. No one but me and Lynn. When we are in public or even among her bevy of servants, she treats me like the shadow I have to be. I would tolerate nothing more or less than that, for my sake and her safety. But when those gates are locked and those big double doors are closed, Lynn comes to my bed and gives me what all those who gaze at her with lust in their eyes can only dream of having.

It’s been going on for a year now. For the last six months, there hasn’t been anyone but me. I know that for certain because I know everything she does, down to the time she takes her shower and how many hours she spends on that expensive cell phone of hers. There was a time when she was fucking me for the sheer fun of it and then fucking other men as well. Once there was even another woman.

Lynn always made me watch. Knowing someone is jealous over her gets her hot as hell. It always got her off to ask me if I liked watching some young stud go at her. The truth was I hated it. I hated it because it turned me on, too, and as soon as that young stud was out of earshot I would be fucking her myself.

Once I took her in the back of the limousine right after she left another man’s apartment, breaking my own rules of discretion and constant vigilance. Her skirt up just enough, my slacks unzipped, my gun rocking gently in the holster with every thrust, I took her right there on those fine leather seats, and I covered her mouth with my palm to keep her moans from letting the driver in on our little secret.

Since that night, there has only been me.

I know it is probably a mistake. I know it is probably putting us both in jeopardy. A bodyguard has to find the balance between too much and too little. He has to walk that thin line that keeps him close but not too close. I’ve crossed that line, I know. But I really had no choice, you see. Lynn made sure of that.

She had become comfortable enough not to bother disappearing into another room to make herself presentable in the mornings. I learned that the barely awake, slightly grumpy, and tangled-hair Lynn was much sexier than the polished, brightly smiling woman on the screen. My discretion and sense of decency had made her more and more open, and gradually I began to see her wrapped in nightgowns, pajamas, even once in a towel. She caught me looking and blushed. The next time she didn’t blush and just smiled. I should have known then what was coming.

Lynn began to taunt me. At first I thought I was imagining things. But one day she stepped out of the bathroom wearing nothing but drops of water. The invitation was evident, and if I didn’t get it from the mere look on her face, the sultry “Come to bed” was as clear as it ever gets.

I was going to decline. Really. I was. But then she kissed me and that was it. The woman can kiss like nobody else on the face of this earth. Soft lips, just enough tongue, and those breathy moans that say she’s enjoying this just as much as you are. It’s the kind of kiss that makes strong men feel weak all over.

One kiss, and five minutes later she was sliding down on my cock. I was in awe until she came and then I was enamored for life. When she came, her whole body flushed pink, like someone turned on a light inside her. I make it a point of watching her do that as often as possible. It’s really something to see.

To top it all off, Lynn is into kink. Last night she was really into kink. It’s a good thing that today is my day off because I need the time to recuperate and think things over.

Just as I know many personal things about Lynn, she knows a few very personal things about me. She came upon a stash of my porn magazines not long ago. What she was doing in my private rooms, I didn’t even think to ask. She raised an eyebrow while she dangled one of the magazines in front of my face.

---